Comrades
by Kret
Summary: A kinkmeme fill. Lacks smut, though. The request was for exploring the relationship, platonic or romantic, between a Renegade FemShep and Garrus.


War is funny.

It showcases the most horrifying and devastating things mankind has to offer. And in spite of that, it forges bonds stronger than steel through trial and fire.

The man opposite her knew this. They sat there, in comfortable silence, both one in the same. They were both soldiers- they've had their identities melted and stamped together to fit that very bill. Born and bred for honor and glory- and yet there was nothing glorious about it. War was brutal.

The novels, the romanticism, it was all grossly incorrect. Spirit and fervor is so exaggerated- there is nothing spirited about shooting a man's head clean off. And sometimes they laughed about it, but it was a hollow laugh, they laughed about killing, because it was so routine. They would see someone- peg him in the chest, or the leg to slow him down, and the two of them might make a joke about it. And they knew that, it wasn't always a joke, and that's why they remained at a distance. The man didn't have an identity if they were at a distance.

Awful things happened out on the field, unspeakable things, literally. They would get back to the Normandy and pretend it never happened, and that's how they dealt with it. They might grab Vega or Alenko and play poker or drink the night away and they would get up and do it all again. It was no use bringing up the memories when they needed a clear head- so they repressed it, and maybe a few years from now they might go to therapy or they might become a hollow shell and it just really didn't matter that much.

It was misfortunate sometimes, getting close. The Husks were one thing, being undead in themselves, but the mercs are just in her way. But such thoughts are dangerous, because if she thought about them too much, they would get identities, and that would be bad.

Climbing in ranks was more tolerable. Being a grunt gave you a faceless persona- you were some guy in a suit with a gun, and you saw terrible things. But as she grew, one feat after another, she became decorated, she gave speeches, she earned positive disposition with the brass. And she wasn't on the field as often.

But they're all out in the field together. That's how a soldier survives- on the battlefield, it's a matter of luck. She couldn't count how many times she instinctively ducked as a bullet shot past where her head was a second ago, or how many times she dove for cover a moment before a grenade exploded. Her instinct, and luck.

She looked up again. He was idly tapping at a datapad with a mug in hand, icy eyes fixed in front of him. Just sitting here across from him, she felt and overwhelming wave of camaraderie. The intimacy of their relationship, the one that horror forged in the depths of hell, it was stronger than any civilian bond. The companionship between the two was so intense, so passionate to be frightening. Such things are what drag one through war- soldiers rely on one another for being all in the same boat. Going home and talking to civilians, they just never understood. They'd ask you about it with excitement to pretend that they seemed so dedicated to the effort, and those who didn't inquire felt themselves better because they left the topic alone. Both sides had no hope of understanding, so the only ones left are your brothers in arms.

That's what made losing one so devastating. Or switching units- some thought it was better, to rotate so soldiers got breaks, or to dismantle the unit, and yet it causes more harm than good. They never understood, no one really understood except for those who have been on that forsaken, blood-soaked ground.

She joined the military at a strange part in her life. She had nothing behind her, and nothing in front of her. She was at the twilight of her adolescence, the peak of her life, and she volunteered for the brutal reality of combat. Some of the older soldiers had something to return to, or a life in front of them, or families. She had nothing, living day-by-day, toiling on for merit or praise when she really wasn't sure what she was doing it for.

Things happened, though, and she became a Spectre, which thrust her back into ground combat. And she joined up with new people, new people to form bonds with, and it was okay. They were chasing a rogue Spectre with her comrades at her side and she felt at home. The bond that ran through the six of them on that ship was strong. It was like being chained to one another, but it was by no means unpleasant. She ran her ship tightly, but they understood. They trusted her, and she couldn't ask for anything more.

Her choices got tougher over time. She wound up encountering things she had never seen before, relying only on her own rationale and judgment to make foundation-shaking decisions. It was no time to cut corners or to offer mercy in a blind choice, and making these sorts of verdicts drove her further from the outside and further into her brothers and sisters.

In a way, this is what helped her make these decisions. Her indifference for the galaxy gave her a neutral edge, and her lack of reliance on anyone but her crew allowed her to make the hard choices easier. Clearing her head did immeasurable help to her position- she couldn't imagine how someone more compassionate than she would deal with it.

And as the circumstances just kept getting rougher and rougher, she couldn't lose sight of the big picture. And that's exactly what she complained about as a soldier: That her Commanders could never see the little pictures. They couldn't see that their decisions could tear families apart, only that the goal was accomplished. Results by any means necessary.

And now, she was doing the same thing herself. It was funny how that works. She has to pass judgment for the many, not the few. What are a few prisoners to a terrorist? A rachni queen to a galaxy? She wasn't leaving these things to chance, and while her crew may not have always publicly agreed with it, she knew they always had her back.

And that was important to her, as rarely as she expressed it. Maybe she didn't need to.

And through all her own trials, her own death, each one pushed her away from emotion and towards rationale. It probably wasn't healthy, but if she had to be callous for the sake of the galaxy, that's the way it's going to have to be. She didn't mourn for her old self, she just kept pushing forward, keep going, with her squad at her flank. She may have been tested with fire, but so had they all.

And a special bond formed between the two equally calculating soldiers. There was still a fire inside both of them, but they knew exactly what reality offers. They had been alone facing their own demons, now together and content in the fact to know that they weren't alone.

He especially had grown so much since she knew him. He went from being her pupil, to her equal, to just genuine respect for the man. Not everyone had the same level of growth that was so evenly matched with her own, going from naivety to confusion to acceptance.

But no matter how they got here, they sat here now, at peace with the knowledge that they have each other's company. They were equal in every sense of the word, and what kept them going was the ability to lean on each other.

She hadn't noticed how deep in thought she was until her omni-tool beeped furiously at her. He was giving her a bit of a puzzled expression at her trailing off, but she waved it off before reading the message and rounding the table. "Shall we?"

"Right behind you."

* * *

The mission was rather straightforward. Another one of Hackett's errands on a world that looked eerily reminiscent of Mars. They waited in the shuttle, Liara at her side and Garrus across from her, as they waited for the mission brief. It didn't take much fidgeting for the comm. link to open.

As she thought, her directions were straightforward. Cerberus was at the facility and communications were being disrupted. Someone on the planet could help fix it, but we had to find her. She sighed before heading back to her seat. Shepard wondered sometimes if it was really necessary for her to go on these mundane missions- surely there was someone better suited to clear out a Communications Facility or a Fueling Depot or grab a Reaper Artifact or diminish Cerberus presence in the area…

She was already here anyway, so she pulled her helmet over her face and gave it a quick pat for good measure. Garrus and Liara did the same, and she grabbed her rifle.

They met groundside, and a wash of familiarity hit her. She knew exactly what she was going, and she was comfortable with it. She donned her tactical cloak, something both Garrus and Liara expressed their distaste of, and started picking off Cerberus soldiers.

It wasn't hard for any of them. Liara was adept at setting up biotic explosions, and Garrus and Shepard provided a symbiosis of defense stripping and headshots. The 3 of their abilities together fit perfectly for almost any situation. They worked as one entity, and they watched each other because of this. Shepard often grabbed for Liara right before she was about to be lanced, or picked off a sniper before he reached Garrus.

She wound up wading through the carnage on the battlefield to try and hack terminals, again, before talking with a very distressed specialist. Cortez was the one who convinced her in the end, her bluntness probably not going over well. She knew she wasn't equipped for menial tasks like this, and she had no interest in trying to reassure someone about it. Big pictures, big pictures. Not little pictures. Get the data, get the facility up. Casualties are unavoidable.

* * *

They hopped onto the Kodiak in relative silence, nothing really out of the ordinary despite the triviality of the mission. She started removing her armor piece by piece before dropping it off in the shuttle and heading back to the mess.

Nothing about the mission, this was protocol. She would get back to the mess and she would write a nice, clean debrief and Garrus would joke with her about it. But they weren't going to talk about it, no matter how small it was.

Cerberus hit a little closer to home than the merc bands. For a few reasons, really. But she didn't care to admit any of them.

It was harder and harder to lie to them, though. She can't hide her nightmares from Garrus anymore, and skulking around the CIC in the middle of the night is bound to attract attention. This is one thing you can't depend on your friends for. Your own mind is your worst enemy.

Sympathy, however, is not the same as empathy. She would always treasure the moments she could confide in Garrus about her sleeping patterns, and that it would be safe between the two of them. But he didn't have the same nightmares, if he had them at all. He usually slept soundly, in contrast to her constant restlessness. He would never really understand, but she knew she would always be able to use him for support.

She'd be lying if she said it didn't weigh down on her, but she repressed it all. It's when it's late and you can't sleep that it comes out. Alone, unshielded. The trauma she's endured festers in her conscience and her dreams. It was easier to simply collapse into a lull after a mission, but that was no longer a luxury she could afford. She had a dangerous amount of time to think, and thinking often hurt. It was getting harder and harder to distract herself.

She obviously was no longer fixed on her mission report, because he spoke up then. "Something on your mind?"

She started, not realizing he was in the mess, but he was leaning on the counter in front of her. She flung the datapad unceremoniously to the side, but betrayed none of her thoughts. It was something she was good at. "A lot on my mind, I guess. Nothing important."

He looked conflicted for a moment, before cocking his head to the side. He may have noticed her blatant lie, but he had the courtesy not to say so.

And that's why they fit so well together. He understood. Her friend, and her lover, and her comrade.


End file.
